The Ward

23


“It’s fine, Ren. We’ll go with you to Ward Hope and you can drop us off there,” Benny says, nodding to Terrence.

I force a smile, except that’s the last thing I want them doing—I’m being followed, I know I am, and if we all boat together, they’re going to know it too.

Derek leans forward in his seat, touches my knee. I pull my eyes from the water to look at him. He’s so close. . . . My heart watches him harder than my eyes do—his curls, they dangle over his forehead. Fire let loose in the daylight.

“I’d like to come with, if that’s all right,” he says, seeming sincere. “To visit Aven. I never should have left the hospital, Ren. I’m sorry. I just . . .” He’s pleading, head bent so close to my thigh. “I had to go.”

Maybe it was an emergency. Maybe he didn’t abandon me to spend time with his Not-Girlfriend. The next words are out of my mouth before I realize it—

“Sure. Of course you can come,” I say, not letting on how thankful I am. I don’t want to be back in that place alone.

Ter huffs, lowering himself onto the floor of the mobile. He’s sullen, and understandably so. His shiny carrot didn’t even make it two full days. He clenches his fist, and under his breath I hear him curse himself for trusting Kent.

“I’d offer to come too,” he says, “but I don’t want to give my dad more to ream me out about, especially not once he sees I’m home without the mobile.”

I pat his shoulder. Can’t say I understand, ’cause I don’t. Instead I go with, “No worries.”

In the curling white trail of waves, I scan for an agent.

Though nothing seems unusual, he must be there. An Omni fell off a rooftop, for crying out loud. If the guy somehow lost me with a bread-crumb trail that size, he shouldn’t be working for the DI.

I start to fidget, tapping my fingers on the mobile’s siding. The sun is so bright it actually feels heavy. Benny’s Cloud is a smooth ride, with floats on either side cushioning each wake—but it makes no difference. Being without the cover of buildings or bridges stirs my anxiety. We’ve left the racing quadrants, heading north over open waters, so these next two miles are a dead zone: no canals, no gutters. Not even important enough to get a quadrant number. The Wash Out pretty much dunked all these buildings off the horizon.

Every ten seconds, I do a sweep of the area. To distract the others, I call up to Benny, “Hey, you ever figure out what happened to my Rimbo? Why’d she bunk on me?”

He turns to me and his face goes all wrinkly. “Ahh . . . that.” He pats the steering wheel.

Derek, Ter, and I all exchange looks, waiting for more.

“You wouldn’t believe it—or, perhaps you would.” He stops to face the water again. “Evidence suggests that your mobile was, quite possibly, tampered with.”

I squeeze the cushy leather of the Cloud’s front seat between my fists. “I’d believe it,” I say. Of course I’d believe it. Only one person who I can think of, too. “What I don’t believe is how I just risked my neck for his—”

“Wait a minute.” Derek holds up his arm. “Let’s not jump to conclusions—you don’t know that Kent had anything to do with it. Mobile systems fail all the time. You dragsters aren’t exactly easy on your equipment, right, Benny? It’s a little early to be yelling ‘fire.’”

I grind my teeth together.

“I’m looking into it,” Benny assures me, but I see him eye Derek in the rearview mirror.

“Hey, guys?” Ter says, pointing behind us. “What’s that?”

I hold my breath, hoping it isn’t what I think—

It is.

Right below the surface, about fifty feet back, we see the winking of light on metal. Then a dark, oblong shadow.

“Looks like an Omni.” Derek watches the shape trail behind us. To Benny, “When we hit Six, make a left, okay?”

Benny eyes him in the rearview mirror, hard-jawed. “You think we’re being followed?”

I hear Ter laugh at the question and ask, “Who’d be following us? We’re not doing anything wrong.”

They’re not doing anything wrong. They don’t know that they’re about to find out why someone might be following our boat.

No one else says anything, and I wipe the sweat from my palms onto the Cloud’s leather, swallowing repeatedly till I have to stop ’cause I’m making my throat go dry. Just play dumb. Pretend you got no idea who’s back there.

Benny doesn’t speed the Cloud up, nor does he slow her down. He keeps her steady until Six’s best skyscraper, the Gold Pyramid, towers over us. Then we’re in view of the southern docks—where the avenue boardwalks end. No longer in open water.

He boats us under Fifth Ave. Sunlight filters through gaps in the planking, but it’s not enough. The boardwalk overhead shadows everything, makes the mobile behind us impossible to see. We’ve all got our eyes fixed on him as he drives, waiting to see which canal he chooses to swing left into. Back in the sun again, we’ll be able to see if the guy is following us. And I’m sure he is.

Without warning, Benny guns the engine. The Cloud rockets forward, water sprays everywhere, and just as we’re about to pass Twenty-Fifth, he throws the wheel left. We spin onto the canal, but we don’t stop there. The Cloud keeps flying—we boat under two more avenues. Benny hurtles her left again, then right. One last left brings us back into the sunlight.

Then, we slow.

Each of our heads turn. At first, for a moment, even I see nothing in the brack water—I almost allow myself to hope. To think we’ve lost him. But no such luck.

There, about a hundred feet off—an Omni. Hugging the building, almost out of sight.

Ter surveys the canal, his gaze swinging left to right in a pendulum. “Weird,” he says, finally looking up.

“We lost him?” Benny shouts back.

Derek nods his head. “Looks like it.” But I can hear in his voice that he’s suspicious.

No one sees it. . . . No one else has been trained by these guys, either. I keep quiet all of the ten blocks it takes us to get to Ward Hope. My guy is out there, and he knows I’m headed to the hospital—exactly where I was told not to go. And there’s nothing I can do about it. Not without having to explain things that I’m not ready to explain.

I stop checking the water.

Dunn already knows.